


give me one good movie kiss

by buttcasino



Series: enchanted to meet you [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, M/M, Meet-Cute, Reunited and It Feels So Good, a disgusting amount of cheesiness and tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-02-01 04:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21372625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttcasino/pseuds/buttcasino
Summary: Quentin and Eliot meet in Paris and share a life-changing kiss, thinking they'll never see each other again. A year and a few months later, Eliot is assigned to greet a new student on the Brakebills lawn.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: enchanted to meet you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969885
Comments: 47
Kudos: 243





	give me one good movie kiss

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic is based off real events, sort of? More specifically, it's inspired by that one viral tweet that was going around last week about meeting a guy at the Eiffel Tower and kissing him to look like you're having a romantic time in Paris. I was so inspired by this legendary scenario, I had to make it Queliot. As you do.
> 
> I had a ton of fun writing this, and hope you have fun reading it!

**QUENTIN**

“Q! You don’t look like you’re having fun!” Julia is standing over him, huge sunglasses perched on her nose, arms crossed, pouting like him not having fun is a personal insult to her, as always. 

“Come on! We’re in _ Europe_! Live a little!” she continues, gesturing broadly around them as if to emphasize, and Quentin nods in agreement that yes, they are in fact, in Europe. 

“Yep. Pretty sure Paris, in particular. I can see the Eiffel Tower right over there and everything,” Quentin says dryly, and Julia, though he can’t see it behind her sunglasses, rolls her eyes. He can just tell, from knowing her as long as he has.

Being in Paris with his best friend on a summer study abroad (very light on the studying part) trip before graduating the following year should have been fun. Quentin agreed to go on the trip under the assumption that he would have fun. He had been looking forward to it. Paris, however, it turns out, isn’t really a lot of fun when you’re there with your best friend and her boyfriend.

Julia and James are actually usually very considerate of Quentin being around and there have only been a few times Quentin can remember that “hanging out” with them had turned into “Quentin reading a book in the corner and trying to make himself scarce while they made out on the couch.” And that had mostly been when they first got together. Since then, they’ve mellowed out and make an almost painfully visible effort to include him, which is nice, if not a little pathetic on his part.

But being in Paris, famously the most romantic city in the world, or whatever, just makes everything heightened, and since they’ve arrived, there has been a noted increase in Julia and James forgetting he existed as they took couples selfies and kissed in front of touristy locations.

This is of course, fine, and just because Quentin had been recently dumped by the girl he had been dating for the last few months, that didn’t mean he should expect that Julia stop kissing her boyfriend in front of him, but. It’s fine. And okay, maybe “dating” is a strong word for someone you hooked up with a few times before they ghosted you, but it’s as close as Quentin has gotten in awhile, so he’s going to count it.

Quentin had used the time to take some photos of his own (_not _of Julia and James kissing) and study the paper map that they’d made fun of him for bringing but then turned out appreciating. He’d gotten really good at navigating the city, and they hardly ever got lost, you’re welcome, guys.

Julia had insisted they had to go to the Eiffel Tower, even though Quentin had told her that it was going to be really crowded, and only annoying tourists went there, and didn’t they want to experience something a little more authentic, because there were tons more interesting places that he had found on this really cool blog—

Anyway, they ended up at the Eiffel Tower.

“We don’t have to stay for long. We have plenty of time to do other stuff,” Julia said. “And do you really want to go to Paris and say you didn’t see the Eiffel Tower at least once?”

Quentin had said that he could actually see it just fine from their dorm window, but Julia hadn’t appreciated that. James had laughed, though. He was nice like that. He was also cute, and basically impossible to hate, not that Quentin wanted to hate him, but he was a _ finance major _ from _ Connecticut, _ you know?

So now he’s sitting cross-legged on the ground reading a paperback copy of the third Fillory book he’d brought in his messenger bag while Julia and James—should he start calling them the J’s to save time?—did the usual photo session. They were surrounded by dozens of other couples doing the same. Great.

“I am having fun,” Quentin insists. 

Julia gives him a skeptical look. 

“I am! It’s just, uh, the vibe is a little...couple-y,” Quentin shrugs.

This was the wrong thing to say, because Julia instantly turns apologetic, and he didn’t want her feeling sorry for him, or more sorry for him than usual.

“God, Q, I’m sorry, I didn’t think about it,” she says, sitting down beside him in the grass. They watch as James attempts to make conversation with some other tourists who had roped him into taking a truly ridiculous amount of family photos from a million different angles. James, as always, was taking it in stride cheerfully.

“It’s fine, I’m used to it.” 

“Yeah, but this is just like, a lot of couples kissing in front of you right now,” Julia acknowledges.

Quentin sighs and pushes his hair behind his ear and he doesn’t mean to say anything in response, but suddenly he’s bursting out with, “And everybody else in the group is going to have all these photos of them with their boyfriend or girlfriend or some hot local they hooked up with except for me, and everybody back home will know I spent the trip third-wheeling it as usual.”

Julia makes a sympathetic cooing noise that Quentin hates and then strokes his hair, which he doesn’t hate.

“Wait a second,” Julia says after a few seconds, her hand stilling on Quentin’s head. “If all you want is a photo, we can do that.”

Quentin doesn’t like the sound of this.

“What do you mean?” he asks, wary.

Julia again gestures around them grandly. “This place is crawling with hotties. All we need to do is find someone who is willing to lay one on you while I take your photo, and then you can post it as proof of your hot summer fling in Paris.”

Quentin is sputtering in protest as James jogs over to them.

“Hey!” he says, throwing himself down in the grass beside them. “What are we talking about? Why does Q look like he’s going to throw up?”

Julia starts to explain and James looks considering, but Quentin can’t help interrupting with, “I just...I can’t kiss a complete stranger, that would just be...I don’t know…”

“I’ll kiss you, Q,” James offers, seeming genuinely up for it, helpful as always.

Julia lightly smacks him on the back of the head. “No, dummy, it can’t be you. Everyone back home knows who you are.”

“_Oh_, right,” James concedes.

“Thanks anyway, though,” Quentin says, his voice small.

Julia is unfortunately set on this idea now, and Julia rarely gives up when her mind is set on something.

“Come on, don’t you want Amber to see that you aren’t pining over her and you’re having the time of your life hooking up with sexy people on your summer abroad?” she insists, poking Quentin’s arm repeatedly.

“Yeah, but I’m _ not _ hooking up with sexy people on my summer abroad,” Quentin has to remind her.

“But it’ll _ look _ like you are, and isn’t that what counts?” Julia says, annoyingly convincing. James is nodding along, although he pretty much agrees with whatever Julia says anyway, so.

Quentin has to admit it would be nice to go back to school in the fall having people think he spent his summer seducing, or getting seduced by, whichever, attractive people. Preemptively stave off the pitying glances and commentary.

But still...someone kissing him out of obligation doesn’t really sound hot, and what if it’s bad and they laugh at him and— 

“Q, I can hear you thinking over there. If you’re worrying about whoever it is laughing at you or it being a bad kiss or whatever, who cares? You never have to see them again.”

Dammit, Julia. She knows him too well.

“I still don’t think I could...go up to people and,” Quentin makes a gesture that he hopes indicates ‘politely ask if they wouldn’t mind kissing me to stage a romantic photo.’

Julia claps her hands together in excitement, sensing his resolve weakening. “You don’t have to do that part! Leave it to me. I’ll find the perfect person.”

The next thing Quentin knows, he has agreed, and Julia is kissing him on the cheek and then she’s bouncing off to find him a fake hookup. Ah, Paris. The City of Love.

James tries to keep him entertained while they wait by speculating wildly and making up stories about the people who walk by, and Quentin finds himself laughing despite the churning feeling in his stomach.

“Oh, and that couple over there, they’re clearly about to break up, look at how pissed off she looks that he can’t get the right selfie angle—” James is saying when Julia returns, and Quentin had almost forgotten what they were waiting for.

But uh. He definitely remembers now. Because Julia isn’t alone. She has apparently been successful in her quest, and has brought them back with her. And.

That someone is a guy who is definitely way out of Quentin’s league, like, he would never even attempt to speak to him if he saw him on campus. He’s tall and handsome and has the look on his face of someone who knows exactly how tall and handsome he is.

“Uh,” Quentin says. “Hi?”

James waves.

Julia looks thrilled. “I told you I’d find you the perfect person. I explained the whole thing and Eliot is completely down to help us out.”

The guy, Eliot, apparently, smiles at her, and then smiles down at them.

“And which of these handsome gentlemen will I have the pleasure of uh...helping out today?” he says, looking incredibly amused by the whole thing.

He’s also American, although something about his outfit is vaguely British, but maybe it’s just fancy. Who wears a vest and a tie in the middle of summer? Although, they are in Europe, as Julia keeps pointing out. They do tend to dress nicer. Maybe this _ Eliot _is a student here? Maybe he’s— 

“Oh! Sorry, of course, uh. That’s James,” Julia says, pointing at him.

“Hey there,” James says easily, standing up and holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Ah, the boyfriend. I heard good things about you,” Eliot winks and Julia giggles and what the hell, did Julia like give details about her and James’ sex life to this guy like five minutes after meeting him, and is the guy now also sort of flirting with James in front of her? She doesn’t seem to mind, though.

James blushes a little and then gestures to where Quentin is still seated on the grass, staring up at them dumbly, “And that’s Quentin.”

Quentin figures he should probably also stand up now, which he does, and Eliot...is still extremely tall when they’re both standing. He has to look up into his eyes. They are extremely pretty, which isn’t really the point.

“Quentin,” Eliot says, like he’s testing it out, and he’s also looking Quentin up and down slowly, and he seems to like what he sees, or at least he’s not actively repulsed, because a slow smile spreads across his face and Quentin can feel himself flushing just from that. “Nice to meet you. I’m Eliot.”

“Yeah, um, I...heard,” Quentin fumbles awkwardly. “I guess uh...thanks for...doing this?”

Eliot laughs. “Oh, believe me, there is nothing I’d rather be doing than kissing a cute boy in Paris.”

Quentin is...well. He’s not sure what he’s doing. His brain is just repeating _ cute boy _ back to him on a loop and he’s trying to ignore the way Julia and James are giving him thumbs up gestures and grinning behind Eliot’s back.

“Oh, I mean, I’m not...” Quentin ends up saying, and then wincing at himself. Julia and James shake their heads at him. 

Eliot, for some reason, has not run off yet after experiencing Quentin’s awkwardness and actually seems to be enjoying himself. “Cute _ and _modest, a winning combination.”

He seems to be _ flirting_, which is like, so unnecessary, he understands what is happening here, right?

Julia is losing her patience.

“Okay, Q, let’s get this show on the road!” she says, because sometimes Julia talks like she’s their parents’ age, and gestures for them to follow her over to the best photo spot.

They trail after her, and James whispers, “Dude, this guy is totally into you,” into his ear as he rushes to catch up.

Eliot doesn’t hear, thankfully, or at least he is polite enough to pretend he didn’t.

“Q?” he asks, and Quentin jumps a little.

“Yeah? Oh I mean, yeah, it’s uh. What my friends call me.”

Eliot smiles a little to himself. “Q. I like that. Very cute.”

There it is again, _ cute_.

Julia starts arranging them for the ideal angle and lighting, and James takes a few test shots as other couples and groups bustle around them.

Eliot is agreeable and doesn’t seem to mind being directed around like it’s a fucking wedding shoot or something. The thought makes something hot spark in Quentin’s stomach for just a second before he purposefully ignores it.

Finally, Julia has them how she wants them.

“Okay, now it’s up to you guys!” she says, looking way too excited. “I’ll just uh, let you do whatever feels natural.”

Quentin has to laugh at that, because absolutely _ nothing _ about this feels natural. Even the idea that someone like Eliot would want to kiss him is unnatural. _ Nobody is going to buy it_, a voice in his head says. And what kind of _ weirdo _ would even agree to do this in the first place? _ Maybe he’s a serial killer_, Quentin’s brain supplies, unhelpfully.

“So,” Eliot says, not seeming at all like a serial killer, standing very close now, but still not touching. “Q. Can I call you Q?”

Quentin looks up at him and swallows, hard. “Uh, sure. I mean. I guess once we...you know...we can technically say we’re friends, right?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Eliot agrees, smiling warmly, but then his expression shifts and he almost looks...nervous? “Well...I know it’s what we’re here for, but...Quentin. Q. Would it be okay if I touched you?” 

An uncontrollable shiver runs through Quentin’s entire body.

“Yeah,” he says, already breathless, somehow.

Eliot’s first touch is to his waist, his hands lightly grasping and pulling Quentin forward until they’re practically pressed together. His hands are big and warm and Quentin has to bite back a gasp when he moves one of them to the small of Quentin’s back and the other up to gently grasp the back of his neck.

Quentin is a little embarrassed at how this instantly makes him go hot and tip his face up towards Eliot’s like he’s just waiting for...well, he is, that’s the point of this whole thing, but. Now he _ wants _ it.

“Good?” Eliot whispers, and Quentin nods, frantically, why is he even asking, he has to know it is, and why does he even _ care_, they’re just doing this so Julia can get a picture he can post to his social media, so that everyone will know that he kissed a tall, handsome, considerate guy in front of the Eiffel Tower.

Vaguely, he wonders if they’re getting shots of this, of Eliot just _ holding him _ like he’s...like they’re...and then all thoughts of what anyone else is or isn’t doing fly from his mind as Eliot laughs a little and shakes his head and leans in.

“Seriously, so cute,” he murmurs, right before their lips touch.

It’s um. Well. Eliot is a really good kisser, which isn’t really a surprise.

It starts slow, soft sweet presses of Eliot’s lips against his, until Quentin makes a noise deep in his throat and Eliot seems to understand that to mean that he should deepen the kiss and curl his tongue against Quentin’s and then Quentin’s going up on his toes to get even closer, because he wants _ more_.

Without realizing it, he has brought his hands up to grab at the front of Eliot’s vest, gripping tightly, but then Eliot is pressing against him so closely and kissing him so thoroughly, Quentin is being bent backwards, like Eliot is _ dipping him, _like this is some old black and white movie, what the fuck. He has to throw his arms around Eliot’s neck for balance, and then that feels really nice, so he leaves them like that.

Quentin’s not sure how long it goes on. It feels like forever. No one has ever kissed him like this. How had he gone his whole life, or just the last few years he’s spent knowing what it’s like to kiss someone, thinking he had been doing it right? When it actually can be like _ this_? He never wants it to end.

He realizes he’s making these _ noises_, high and desperate, into Eliot’s mouth as they kiss. When they part for a second, just a second, Quentin can’t stand it to be any more than that, Eliot moans and whispers “fuck,” before Quentin has to kiss him again.

One of Eliot’s hands slides down the curve of his back to firmly grab at his ass, and...yeah, that’s good. Quentin really, really likes that, it turns out. Eliot’s hands...are so big...he thinks, wildly, as their hips press together and Quentin can feel himself start to get hard, which would be embarrassing, but it’s not, somehow? 

It’s so good, Quentin can’t even think of anything else, and it takes him a long time to realize that there’s someone standing next to them, and they’re speaking very loudly. It sounds like it’s coming from far away at first, and then slowly comes into focus.

“Eliot! Jesus! Stop jamming your tongue down this random guy’s throat, we have to _ go,_” the voice is saying, and Quentin thinks _ no no no _when Eliot pulls away, seemingly with reluctance.

Quentin blinks up at him and Eliot smiles, and then he’s gently disentangling them and steadying Quentin on his feet with a firm hand to his hip.

“Eliot!” the voice says again, and Quentin turns to see a beautiful girl with long brown hair, who is standing there with her hands on her hips and tapping her foot impatiently.

“I heard you the first time, Bambi,” Eliot says, still staring at Quentin when Quentin looks back to him.

Bambi? Okay, sure.

_ Bambi _ rolls her eyes. “Okay, well, then say goodbye to your new twink and let’s go. We’re about to miss our..._taxi_.”

The way she says _ taxi _ is so weird that Quentin forgets to comment on the whole _ twink _ thing. 

“Shit,” Eliot says. “Okay, I’m coming. Just give me a second.”

She raises her eyebrows and stays where she is, making it clear that she will be giving no more than a second.

Quentin doesn’t understand why it feels like he might cry, why he wants to ask him to _ stay_. He literally just met this guy what, twenty minutes ago?

And yet…

Eliot smiles and says, “Hey, I’m sorry, I really have to go...but um...it was fun. I hope the pictures turned out okay?” 

Quentin blinks at him. “What? Oh, right.”

He had completely forgotten for a minute, what they are even doing there. Why he met Eliot in the first place. Why it’s completely ridiculous that he was about to ask for Eliot’s _ number _like they actually…

“El,” _ Bambi _ says, and he sighs. 

“It was great meeting you, Q,” Eliot says, and then like he makes a split-second decision, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to Quentin’s mouth. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

Shocked by the feeling of Eliot’s mouth on his and then having it gone again so quickly, Quentin doesn’t ask how that would ever happen, or say, _hey, I think you just ruined my life a little bit_, or anything, really.

The only thing he can manage to say is, “I hope so.”

With that, Eliot smiles at him again, maybe looking a little sad, but maybe that’s just Quentin projecting, and then he and his friend are gone, hurrying away, arm in arm.

Quentin stares after them, and he must look really pathetic, because Julia comes up to him and places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” she says, softly, like she can tell what he’s feeling.

He doesn’t know what to say. This whole thing was a terrible idea, but it’s not Julia’s fault. It’s his fault, for not being able to kiss a stranger for a staged photo without getting emotional about it.

“The photos turned out great,” James says, hesitantly, as he joins them. “So uh...that’s good, right?”

Quentin swallows against the lump in his throat.

“Yeah,” he says. “Great.”

**ELIOT**

It’s entrance-exam day, and Dean Fogg has a job for Eliot.

Eliot, however, does not want a job, as he is currently nursing a massive hangover, courtesy of a little weeknight happy hour with Margo, who _ does _ make martinis way too strong, despite her protests to the contrary. He’ll have to yell at her about that later. But she is still back at the cottage, sleeping it off, the lucky brat, while Eliot was summoned to the dean’s office with a note saying his _ presence was required_.

“Henry,” Eliot says, in what he hopes is a reasonable _ we’re both adults here _tone. “The little first years always find their way just fine, and the ones that don’t probably don’t belong here anyway. Why is this one so special?” 

Dean Fogg raises his eyebrows and sadly does not look put at ease by Eliot’s attempts to bond.

“Mr. Waugh, the reason does not concern you, but you’ll just have to trust me that it’s important. Just as I will simply have to trust that you will be up to the task.”

He hands Eliot a card with a name on it.

“Get him to the exam on time,” Fogg pronounces, and that’s the end of that.

So, here Eliot is, lounging on the wall on the Brakebills lawn, waiting for—he checks the card again—_Quentin Coldwater _to show up.

The name sends a little pang through Eliot’s heart. _ Quentin_, he thinks. Just like his Paris dream boy, who he’ll never see again.

After leaving Quentin and his friends at the Eiffel Tower, Eliot had promptly had a panic attack and demanded they go back, but Margo had insisted they had to get to the portal that was taking them back to Brakebills _ now_, because the enchantment spell was temporary and would stop working soon. If they missed it, they’d be stuck in Paris, and then they’d have to get a flight back, and by the time they returned, they’d have missed finals. 

Margo would never admit it, but she’s a good student and she cares about her grades, and Eliot would never put her in danger of failing her first year at Brakebills and having to be held back. 

They had decided a little weekend trip to burn off some steam and relieve the stress of studying for finals would be a great idea. And it was.

Except for how Eliot had met the cutest boy he’d ever seen, had the best kiss of his entire life in front of the fucking Eiffel Tower, how cliche, and then been too nervous to ask for his phone number.

Quentin had just wanted to kiss him to get a photo to post to his socials, it wasn’t like...anyway, Eliot had blown his one chance to get Quentin’s contact information because he was afraid of looking _ weird _ and immediately regretted it.

Margo hadn’t understood, and she still didn’t.

“He was probably my _ soulmate _ and now I’ll never see him again,” Eliot had dramatically declared, flinging himself onto his bed, when they’d returned to Brakebills, and it was the first time, but it wasn’t the last, he is embarrassed to admit.

“Soulmate? El, come on. So he had a cute ass and was a decent kisser. You’ll find someone else who meets that criteria in no time,” Margo had said, but she was wrong.

In the last year and...three months, give or take, not that he’s counting, Eliot hasn’t met anyone at all like Quentin, with his beautiful eyes, and soft hair and perfect mouth. No one had Quentin’s endearingly nervous energy, his self-deprecating little smile, and surprisingly adventurous spirit, when it came down to it. Not everyone would’ve let a complete stranger kiss them in Paris, photo opportunity or no. 

Anyway, Quentin, _ Q_, and how cute was that, was most likely perfect, and Eliot had _dropped the ball_, as the jocks would say.

And now, he was about to meet another Quentin. Eliot meanly hopes he gets put into another discipline, so he doesn’t have to face Bargain-Brand Quentin every day and be faced with the reminder of what he had missed out on.

So, Eliot is lounging on the wall and smoking a cigarette, because he’s brooding a little, so what. He’s hungover and low-key depressed. He deserves to wallow a bit. He knows Margo would tell him that he’s been _ wallowing _for over a year now and it was time to get over it, but Margo’s not here.

And now Second-Rate Quentin is _l__ate_. Even better.

Eliot’s just started thinking of ways he can make Margo pay for getting to sleep in when he’s out here waiting for Substandard Quentin, when he sees a figure making its way toward him on the lawn.

He purposely doesn’t get up, not wanting to give the impression that he is eager to meet Inferior Quentin.

He glances over again, casually, when the hurrying figure is closer and. Wait. Holy shit. Is it...no.

There’s no way this is happening. Eliot must be hallucinating. Because...it’s Quentin. The Quentin he’s supposed to be meeting, _ Quentin Coldwater_, and the Quentin he met in Paris...are the same person.

He’s staring up at Eliot like he also can’t believe what he’s seeing, his beautiful face slack and awed.

Eliot slowly sits up. “Quentin _Coldwater_?” he says, in disbelief, looking down at the card in his hands. Holy shit.

Quentin’s face instantly falls. “Oh, um. I guess you don’t remember me?”

Eliot blinks at him. As though he could ever forget.

“Of course I remember you,” he says, and hops off the wall and slowly makes his way to where Quentin is standing, frozen still.

When they’re in front of each other, Eliot looks him up and down, just like he had that day in Paris. And just like that day in Paris, he likes what he sees.

“I remember you, Eliot says again, and Quentin smiles up at him, shy but eager. “I just...I didn’t think I’d ever know your last name. Coldwater. Huh.”

Quentin shrugs like, _ that’s me_.

“And you are?” he asks.

Eliot grins and holds out his hand. “Eliot Waugh. It’s nice to meet you...again.”

Quentin looks down at his hand and then reaches out and takes it. They don’t shake though, instead Eliot just sort of. Holds Quentin’s hand like he’s going to bring it to his mouth and kiss it. For a second, he wants to.

Then, Eliot remembers what they’re doing and why Quentin is here.

“You’re late,” he says, panicked, and pulls Quentin along by the hand he’s grasping.

Quentin stumbles after him. “Late for what? Where am I? What the fuck is going on? Am I hallucinating?”

Eliot doesn’t look back at him, just hurries even faster. “If you are, then I guess I am, too.”

When they’re just outside the exam room, Eliot turns to Quentin and adjusts his tie and collar. “Okay. Just go in there and. Do your best. I really want you to pass.”

Quentin nods, his gorgeous face set and serious, even though he clearly still has no idea what he’s trying to pass or why.

“And um, if you do,” Eliot continues, glancing up to Quentin’s face, “Would you...want to go out with me?”

“Yes,” Quentin says, beaming. “I’d love to.”

Eliot smiles back, and feels almost lightheaded he’s so happy.

“Okay, great. Shit, you better...get inside before you miss it.”

He opens the door and ushers Quentin inside. 

“Good luck,” Eliot calls out, and Quentin turns back to smile at him, and Eliot feels stunned at how bright it is.

He’s immediately shooed away by Dean Fogg and has one moment of feeling absolutely euphoric before it’s overtaken by nervousness that Quentin won’t pass. That would be just Eliot’s luck, to be reunited with the guy of his dreams, only to have the guy’s memory of meeting him again wiped. But…Eliot knows his name now. His full name. If Quentin doesn’t pass, and he doesn’t come to Brakebills, Eliot could always find him, and he knows now that Quentin would be happy to see him...

Still, sharing magic with Quentin, being at school together...it’s too good to be true, and that’s why Eliot thinks it probably won’t happen. Maybe Quentin is stupid (it would make sense, he really is too cute to also be smart, that’s just unfair), maybe he’s a terrible test taker, maybe he actually doesn’t have magic.

Eliot doesn’t know how long he waits there, outside the exam room, freaking out a little, but eventually, he sees people start to pour out, and one of them is…

“Julia?” he says, standing up from the bench he had been parked on since the exam started.

She looks around and sees Eliot and her eyes are wide, overwhelmed. Eliot remembers meeting her in Paris, how she’d walked right up to him with a sunny smile, adorable dimples in her cheeks and said “Hi, I’m Julia. Would you be interested in kissing my friend for a good cause?”

How could he say no?

Now, she smiles at him again, but she looks a little stressed. Understandable, what with everything that happened to her today. But, she’s here and she hasn’t been memory wiped, so that can only mean she passed.

“Eliot, hi!” she says, making her way over to him. “Q told me he saw you. Well he started to, but then we had to...anyway, it’s so crazy to see you again.”

“Well, I did tell him maybe I’d see him around sometime,” Eliot shrugs, and Julia laughs.

“Yeah, he told me. I heard...a lot about you in the past year.”

Eliot takes a moment to feel pleased about that, since he had told his own best friend a lot about _ Quentin _ in the past year, and it was a relief to find that the feeling was mutual, that they’d actually shared a _ moment_. 

“Speaking of Quentin, have you seen him come out of the exam yet?” Eliot says, trying to sound casual.

At that, Julia’s face drops. Oh no. Shit.

“Did he...not pass?” Eliot manages to ask, and feels a wash of relief when Julia shakes her head emphatically.

“Oh no, no, he did, I guess...um, they had to take him to the infirmary?” Julia says, wincing a little. “Dean Fogg just told me. I was on my way there.”

Eliot must look panicked because Julia places a hand on his arm. “He’s fine! Just resting. He...passed out during the last part of the exam.”

“Jesus,” Eliot mutters. “Okay, let’s go. I’ll show you the way.”

When they get to the infirmary, they find it mostly empty, except for Quentin, asleep on a cot. He looks so small against the white sheets. Professor Lipson is standing over him, writing something in a file folder.

“Is he…” Eliot says, and Lipson looks up and rolls her eyes, which Eliot doesn't really think is the appropriate response from a _medical professional_, but this is Brakebills, after all.

“He’s sleeping, apparently overexerted himself during the exam and went into a swoon after he successfully managed to do magic. Nothing to worry about, unless you’re worried about his apparent lack of common sense, but that’s not really my area.”

She bustles off and leaves Eliot and Julia alone with Quentin, who seems to be resting peacefully.

“Dumbass,” Julia mutters, shaking her head. She walks over to the bed and leans down to press a kiss to Quentin’s forehead. 

Eliot suddenly feels like he’s intruding, and now that he knows Quentin is okay, maybe he should leave this part to Quentin’s best friend. Eliot, after all, is still just the guy Quentin met once over a year ago and has a vague plan to go out with sometime.

“I’m sure he’d like to see you when he wakes up, if you wanted to stick around,” Julia says, settling into her chair. “But no pressure.”

So he does.

They chat for awhile, about Brakebills and how _ magic is fucking real? _and Eliot asks about James. He’s glad to hear they’re still together, as they seemed like a cute couple, but he sees the moment she realizes she won’t be able to tell him about any of this, and he knows that’s going to be tough.

They’ve moved back to discussing how _ magic is fucking real _ and Julia is talking about how she and Quentin have been obsessed with the _ Fillory and Further _series since they were little.

“I’ve never read them,” Eliot admits, and Julia chuckles.

“Oh boy, I can’t wait to hear Q’s reaction when you tell him that.”

Just then, as if he heard his name, Quentin stirs in the bed and mumbles something.

He slowly opens his eyes and when he sees Julia, he smiles. “Hey, Jules. I just had the craziest dream. We were at this magic school, like Hogwarts, but for college? And I saw—”

His gaze has drifted over to where Eliot is sitting, and stops short.

“I wasn’t hallucinating?” Quentin asks, his voice small, turning from Eliot to Julia and back again, looking for confirmation.

Eliot shakes his head. “Nope. It’s all real. Welcome to Brakebills University.”

Quentin gasps and shakes his head. “Holy shit. I’m...I did _ magic_, Jules, did you…”

She nods and grabs his hand. “Yes! I know, me too. Isn’t it amazing?”

“It’s...it’s fucking....wait a second, why am I in the magic hospital? Did I...oh no,” Quentin says, looking embarrassed. “So I guess the part where I screamed at the dean that I wasn’t leaving until I passed so I could go on a date later, and then I did magic and then I fainted...I guess all that really happened too?”

Eliot and Julia look at each other and he can tell they’re both trying to hold in laughs.

“Well, um, Dean Fogg didn’t exactly tell me all the details,” Julia says, voice shaking a little. “But yes, that is apparently what happened.”

Quentin pulls free from Julia’s grasp and covers his face with both hands. He groans. “Great, I’m an embarrassment here before I even start.”

“Personally, I’m flattered,” Eliot says, and Quentin lowers his hands enough that he can peek out at Eliot over his fingers. “I’m looking forward to our date, too.”

“Oh,” Quentin says, and Eliot can tell he’s smiling behind his hands. “Good.”

Julia clears her throat and stands up. Her chair makes a scraping noise on the floor as she pushes it back. 

“I think I’m gonna take a walk around campus, give myself a little self-guided tour,” she says. “Q, I think you’re in good hands.”

Is he ever. Eliot would like to get his hands all over him, in fact, but the school infirmary isn’t really the place for that. 

“You can trust me,” Eliot says, and Julia raises her eyebrows and tilts her head as if considering his trustworthiness.

“I hope so,” she replies, and with another kiss to Quentin’s forehead, she’s hurrying out the door.

Then it’s just Eliot and Quentin, and for all that Eliot has quite literally dreamed of this moment, now that it’s happening, he’s not sure what to do. In some ways, Quentin was a safe little fantasy, something to mourn the possibility of. The thought of actually having a chance and then messing it up is almost too much to handle.

But then Quentin smiles at him, and pushes his hair behind his ear, clearly nervous, too, and. It has to be worth it, putting himself out there, for this.

“So I—” Quentin starts to say, just as Eliot is saying “Well, I—” and they end up talking over each other and laughing at themselves, and it’s awkward, sure, but in a good way, where Eliot can tell it’s just because they’re both_ trying _ so hard.

“So I pretty much blew it by not asking for your number after we...uh, in Paris,” Quentin says, starting again after a moment where they’re just sitting there, smiling like idiots. “Julia and James didn’t let me hear the end of it for months. I just um...wasn’t sure you’d want to see me again.” 

Eliot can’t believe this. “You’re telling me that we were both too scared to ask for each other’s numbers? After that, quite frankly, mind blowing kiss?”

Quentin ducks his head and smiles again, still sweetly shy.

“Oh,” he says. “I didn’t know if...it was. If it was just me.”

Eliot has to reach out and touch him then, and their hands brush and then Quentin is turning his palm up on the bed so that Eliot can lace their fingers together, and it feels so easy and natural, it’s like they’ve done it a million times.

“Believe me, it definitely wasn’t just you. I’ve thought about it every day, and Margo can attest, talked about it almost every day, too, to her great annoyance. You really did a number on me, Quentin Coldwater,” Eliot says, because he loves that he can say it now, he knows it, and he loves how it makes Quentin flush a little bit, how his eyes dart away, as if he’s too overwhelmed to keep looking at Eliot.

“Oh,” he says again, and jumps a little when Eliot rubs his thumb across his knuckles. “Margo? Is that...you called her Bambi?”

Eliot laughs. “Yeah. One and the same. That’s what I call her. She’ll be flattered you remembered.”

“I can’t wait to actually meet her,” Quentin says, and it sounds like means it. Eliot can’t wait for that either, and holy shit, this is actually happening, he has to keep reminding himself.

Eliot explains why he’d had to rush away that day, and it’s such a relief to be able to tell him the truth, because he can talk about magic with Quentin, now. He wants to make sure Quentin knows that if it were up to him, he wouldn’t have left. He would’ve stayed in Paris and taken Quentin to the best restaurants and held his hand while they explored, and kissed him in every romantic location. He’d have asked Quentin if he wanted to go back to the hotel, and he would’ve— 

“It’s okay, really. I just thought, you know, this guy nicely offered to do you a favor and now you’re making it awkward, no wonder he’s running off as quickly as possible,” Quentin shrugs, and it’s ridiculous how sad it makes Eliot feel, that Quentin thought that for over a year. “I mean, it’s not like we were on a date and you ditched me, it was a staged kiss for a photo.”

“How did the photos look, by the way? Were they a hit on Facebook?” Eliot asks.

Quentin looks down at their joined hands. “I actually...I never posted them.”

“_What_? Why not? Did I look terrible? Is Julia a bad photographer?”

Quentin laughs and shakes his head. “No, I don’t think it’s possible for you to look terrible, and the photos were great, actually. I just...it felt wrong. I didn’t want anyone else to see them? Like…”

“Like it was just for us?” Eliot finishes, and Quentin nods, looking embarrassed. “I mean, just for us, and Julia and her boyfriend, and the dozens of tourists gawking at us, but, you know. I get it.”

“It’s stupid,” Quentin mumbles, and Eliot thought they were on the same page here.

“Hey,” he says, and gives in to the desire to bring Quentin’s hand to his lips and press a kiss to the backs of his fingers, which gratifyingly makes Quentin draw in a sharp breath. While they’re being corny and talking about their feelings, might as well. “It’s not stupid at all. I would like to see them sometime, though.”

Quentin smiles at him and says, “Oh. Okay. Yeah, um…I have them. On my phone, if you want to...”

The fact that Quentin has the photos on his phone, like he wants to be able to look at them whenever he wants, gives Eliot this fluttery, swooping feeling in his stomach, like he’s sixteen again, an awkward teenager with a crush.

Quentin reaches over to his phone on the table beside him, and scrolls through until he finds what he’s looking for. Then he holds it out to Eliot, looking antsy, but not backing down.

Eliot takes the phone. There are a lot of photos. Julia had gone all out. And Quentin had kept every single one, on his phone. Looking at it like this, he can remember how it felt, to hold Quentin in his arms, desperate to make the kiss good for him, even though logically he knew that wasn’t why they were doing this. And the kiss...well, there’s no way that it could look as good as it felt, but it still looks pretty damn great. They look like a real couple, like two people who went to Paris on a romantic getaway and can’t get enough of each other.

He’s glad Quentin didn’t post them, but Eliot also kind of wants to post them everywhere, online, on posters around the campus, so everyone can see, so everyone will know. 

“Thanks,” he says, after a long while, and he hands the phone back to Quentin. “We look good.”

Quentin looks down at the photo currently up on the screen, which is one of the ones near the end, where Eliot had basically lost his mind and started groping him in public.

“Yeah,” he says. “We do.”

And Eliot had told himself that this wasn’t the place for it, Quentin’s literally still a patient in recovery, but they’re looking at each other, and then Eliot is leaning in and Quentin is raising himself up, and then they’re kissing.

God, he’d _ missed _ this, which is ridiculous, because it had only happened one time, and he and Quentin still don’t even really _ know _each other at all, but they somehow kiss like they’ve known each other forever.

Things are just starting to get really good, and Eliot’s halfway considering just asking Quentin to scoot over so he can climb into the bed with him, when he hears an insistent _ ahem _somewhere over their heads.

They break apart, breathing heavily, and Lipson is standing there, looking exasperated.

“Really?” she says. “Here? Now?”

“Sorry,” Quentin squeaks out, looking mortified. “We just...haven’t seen each other in a year?”

Lipson shakes her head and marks something in her chart. “Well, you’re clearly fine and your vitals are normal, if _ slightly _elevated at the moment.”

She glares at Eliot as she says this, and he sits back and raises his hands in the air innocently.

“I’d like to keep you here for a few more hours, just to be safe. But it’s nothing serious, unless you count being _ too horny to live _ as a medical diagnosis. Maybe it should be on this campus,” Lipson says.

“Uh?” is Quentin’s response and Eliot feels probably unfairly smug.

Lipson turns her glare back to him. “I’m going to ask you to leave, though, Mr. Waugh. Let him rest. Once he’s released, go at it. It’s none of my business what happens once he leaves my care, but for now, _ out_.”

She points at the door, and Eliot obediently stands.

“I’ll be back later,” he says to Quentin, who nods and settles back onto the bed, dreamy expression on his face. “To pick you up for our date.”

Quentin closes his eyes and turns his face into the pillow, smiling widely. “‘Kay,” Eliot hears him mumble.

Lipson rolls her eyes again, and Eliot takes his leave, turning back to glance at Quentin one more time before he’s effectively pushed out the door.

He hurries back to the Physical Kids cottage and barges into Margo’s room without knocking.

“Bambi! Wake up! I have a date later!” he says, and she startles out of sleep with a yell.

Her hair is a mess and she’s wearing a sleep mask, which she fumbles with for a few moments and then she’s glaring at him, bleary eyed. 

“What the fuck, El,” she groans. “What time is it? A date? With who?”

“It’s time for you to get up and help me get ready,” Eliot says, throwing open the closet door before he remembers they’re in her room, not his. “And you’re never going to believe this, but it’s _ Quentin_.”

Margo rubs at her eyes and attempts to sit up. “Quentin? Paris boy? How?”

Eliot throws himself on the bed next to her, staring up at the ceiling. “Well, it all started when Dean Fogg asked me to meet a new first year out on the lawn, for some reason, and the new kid’s name was _ Quentin Coldwater_, and I was like, sigh, if only it could be my long-lost missed connection...and then...somehow...it was.”

“Coldwater? Really? Sounds fake,” Margo says, reaching over to take a long gulp from the glass of water Eliot had so kindly placed on her bedside table when he’d deposited her into bed last night before passing out himself.

“Really, Bambi?” Eliot rolls his eyes, even though he has to agree. “That’s what you’re focusing on right now? No congratulations to me for reuniting with my elusive could-have-been romantic interest?”

Margo reaches out and pats his arm. “I’m very happy for you, El. Now I won’t have to listen to your whining ass going on about him anymore. So where is Lover Boy anyway?”

“He’s in the infirmary!” Eliot says brightly. “He passed out during the entrance exam because he was trying so hard, isn’t that cute? Lipson said he’ll be released in a few hours.”

Paused in the process of slowly getting out of bed, Margo turns back to stare at him. “He..._passed out _ in the entrance exam? Doesn’t sound like the sharpest dick in the box, does he?”

Eliot sighs. “He’s perfect.”

“Okay, well, have fun tenderly boning the invalid,” Margo yawns. “Sounds like a real hoot. Go make me a Bloody Mary first, though.”

Eliot rolls himself towards the edge of the bed. “Fine, but then you’re helping me pick an outfit.”

“Yeah, okay,” Margo agrees, gingerly taking steps towards the door, and she really shouldn’t be making fun of anyone else for being an invalid, at the moment. Glass houses and all that. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, like I’m some dumb college freshman who had tequila for the first time, but I may have to puke. So bring my drink straight to the bathroom, okay?”

“That’s your own fault,” Eliot sings, as he pushes himself off the bed. “I told you the fucking martinis were too strong.”

His own hangover has miraculously disappeared, cured by a great kiss with a cute boy, which Eliot is all too happy to continue to use as a remedy.

Margo is still making her way to the hallway, and she groans and flips him off without turning around.

Eliot heads downstairs to make Margo’s restorative drink, and maybe see what he has on hand for a romantic dinner for two.

It’s short notice, and he could do much more if he had more time to plan, but he has a feeling Quentin won’t mind. They’ve waited over a year for this. And, they have plenty of time. Maybe on their next date, they can pop over to Paris for that dinner they should’ve had a year ago.

“El,” Margo yells from upstairs. “What’s taking you so long?”

Eliot smiles and puts the finishing touches, a celery and olive garnish, plus tons of celery salt, hot sauce, and Worcestershire, just how Margo likes it, because he is a good friend, into the Bloody Mary.

“Be right there,” he shouts back, and heads up to get ready for his date.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "Nobody" by Mitski, of course. The mood of the song doesn't really fit the mood of the fic, but the overall sentiment somehow works.
> 
> Will I ever write anything in this fandom that isn't tagged "alternate universe-canon divergence?" Remains to be seen. I just can't stop giving these idiots the happy ending they deserve.
> 
> I know the teaser trailer for the new season that came out yesterday upset a lot of people, myself included. I don't know where season 5 will take us, or even if we'll all be watching, but I am still deeply invested in these characters, and I hope these dumb fics help you all feel a little better, because writing them sure helps me feel better.
> 
> Margo happens to like her Bloody Marys just the way I do!


End file.
